


Touch as soothing as the night sky

by ElianB



Series: Mal's multi-year long midlife crisis [2]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Frenemies, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Magic, Mal having a mid life crisis at 16, This is a direct squel to the previous fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 09:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElianB/pseuds/ElianB
Summary: Mal's not sure what she wants; her own beliefs conflicting with her mother's. The natural solution? Going out alone on the Isle in the dead of night. At least, until Uma pins her up against an alley wall and calls her out for being stupid, anyway.
Relationships: Mal & Uma (Disney)
Series: Mal's multi-year long midlife crisis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337134
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Touch as soothing as the night sky

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Just took a couple months and a trip into writing for dc. When I tell you the first half of this fic had me stuck...
> 
> Anyway. The previous fic is required reading for this fic. It picks up roughly a week and a half to 2 weeks or so after the end of the previous fic and there are multiple references to the events of that fic. If you just jump in here you're going to be very confused.
> 
> Other than that, I also wanted to say: my plans for the layout of this series have changed. The initial plan that I mentioned somewhere in the previous fic was a long fic, a mini fic, and another long fic. Instead of one mini fic I'm thinking there's going to be multiple. I'm not entirely sure how many, but they're probably all going to be focusing on a different kid, so I'd say no more than 5, probably. This one is Mal's.

It was late and Mal, against her better judgement, was wandering the streets of the Isle of the Lost.

The sun had set a couple of hours ago and nothing was lighting the streets but the sparse, flickering streetlamps and the faint glow shining out from the more than a few windows, the latter betraying insomniacs with better self-preservation instincts than Mal had been exhibiting for a while now.

Over the last few nights she’d taken to slipping out of her room with a leap from her balcony to a tree nearby, climbing down despite the protest of her still-healing injuries.

She’d always been a night owl, but ever since she’d pacified the Grudge and absorbed it into her body, she hadn’t been able to sleep much at all. There was a constant, low thrum of energy swimming through her veins, to say nothing of the nightmares that had her jolting awake any time she actually managed to fall asleep.

Her last decent nights rest must have been immediately following the whole Grudge ordeal – when she and her friends had practically collapsed into bed together under the weight of their exhaustion.

The next evening, after leaving with Jay to check in with their parents, Mal had returned to the hideout not long after she’d finished redressing her wounds. She’d needed distance from her mother – space and time to get her head screwed back on straight after the disastrous conversation she’d had with her. The conversation where everything had seemed to crumble down around Mal in the face of her own conviction that what she and her friends had done by stopping the Grudge was something to be proud of and her realization that her mother would never see it that way.

She’d arrived with a decent amount of time to spare before she could expect Evie and Carlos to start filtering in, since classes were still in session, and Jay hadn’t come back yet either, so she’d gotten herself comfortable, pulling out a sketchpad and pouring herself into her art.

Those few hours alone, nothing but herself and her sketches, had been rejuvenating, her mind going still with the intensity of her focus.

She’d been pursuing that calm ever since. Skipping classes every day wasn’t really an option and the hideout was rarely empty of everyone but her, so she’d eventually just settled on going out at night. It wasn’t the return to normalcy she’d been craving, but it enabled that normalcy, giving her the time she needed to recharge after long days of pretending nothing was different, that she was the same as she’d always been.

And with her insomnia and the nightmares keeping her from actually sleeping, sneaking out at night had felt like a natural solution to her ‘how to get time to herself’ problem. She always slipped out during the especially late hours of the night, it being around then that her thoughts seemed to expand and intensify, growing to the point that Mal felt like they were trying their best to eat her whole.

It was unbearable and the first night she’d gone out she’d actually decided, in a burst of wild frustration, that she’d honestly rather get shanked in the street than stay shut up in her room, staring up at the shadowy canopy of her bed as the same concerns ran themselves ragged in her head, again and again, refusing to be reconciled.

And maybe it was the action of getting out and getting her body moving or maybe it was the near silence blanketing the streets or maybe it was the view she’d been settling in to at the end of her little excursions, but something about the process never failed to quiet those consuming thoughts.

It was a state of peace that she couldn’t achieve around her friends – the reminder of the Grudge debacle suspended over them like a film of dust when the four of them got together – and it _definitely _couldn’t be achieved at her home, her mother being the very source of the problem.

Because, Mal didn’t like to acknowledge it – in fact, even now, as she stalked down the dark streets of the Isle, she was actively running from it – but she knew that her unwavering devotion to her mother had been shaken.

She knew it.

She knew it and she could try to ignore it, as much and as hard as she wanted to, but she could still _feel_ it, unbidden, brought about at the slightest reminders. Like every time she saw her mother or heard her voice. Every time she was with her friends. Every time she looked at Jay and remembered his confession that the thought of giving Maleficent power made him nervous, a sentiment that Mal had secretly shared.

And as the days passed, the instability just seemed to be getting worse, harder to ignore. Her righteous anger faded and her drive for defiance became frightening. The very prospect of no longer devoting herself to her mother and the goal of shaping herself into Maleficent’s image leaving Mal feeling utterly directionless.

That fear was a bit part of why she was trying her hardest to press on like nothing was wrong.

Unfortunately, the bubble of normalcy she’d thrown up around herself wasn’t actually working all that well – not in regard to stabilizing her inner conflict anyway – but it was _something_, at least. Something to help, however little, with keeping everything together, with keeping her world from crumbling to pieces as she tried her best to rid herself of her growing distrust of her mother, bring her reality back into alignment with how things used to be – how things were _supposed_ to be – so she wouldn’t have to deal with an upheaval of everything she’d ever believed.

Because, honestly, Mal couldn’t _afford_ to be falling apart. Not on the Isle. Not with the image she’d been raised to convey, one of latent power and destined greatness. Not if she didn’t want to ruin everything she’d been working towards from the time she was old enough to comprehend reprimands.

The problem was, even though Mal couldn’t afford it, she could still feel it, deep down inside her body, a sensation like seams popping.

Mal took a deep, calming breath, centering herself as she came upon the building she’d taken to climbing every night. There was a pile of crates around the side and with a bit of maneuvering, she’d managed to position them in a way that allowed her to scramble up them. They didn’t quite reach as close to the roof as she would have liked, but they got close enough that she could get up with a leap, her hands grasping onto the roof’s edge. It wasn’t ideal, what with the stone burning her fingers as she fought to pull herself up and the exertion making her gasp from pain and causing spots to dance across her vision, but if it worked, it worked.

And, besides, the effort was worth it for the view. Auradon lay in the distance, the lights shining from the distant coastline and the stars nestled in the sky causing the ocean to glitter. It evoked a weird mix of hatred and longing.

She was going to paint it one day.

From this position, she was also close enough to the Isle’s own coast to hear the waves crashing against it, rhythmically. As she sat, staring off into the gentle undulations of the water, the pulsing of her magic seemed to sync up with the ebb and flow of the tide, soothing, allowing her to let go and just _be_.

Mal’s lack of sleep must have really been catching up with her because before long her eyes were slipping closed and she was falling asleep despite the chill of the air and the unforgiving hardness of the roof.

In the morning, she woke with the harsh glare of the sunrise and the onset of the day’s cacophony, jolting into consciousness with a gasp. She pushed herself upright, her body filled with even more aches and pains than usual and an uncomfortable feeling having taken up residence in her chest. Blinking blearily, she fought to gain her bearings, rising slowly to her feet and stumbling over to where the crates were piled up. She rubbed at her eyes, sliding off of the edge of the roof and onto the crates, making her way back down to the ground.

Usually she only spent about an hour up on the roof before making her way back home and falling into a fitful sleep and, she had to say, she seriously wasn’t a fan of accidently passing out outside.

She sniffled, swiping at her nose, then straightened her clothes and dragging a hand through her hair as she pulled back her shoulders as she stepped out onto the street, trying to give off the impression that nothing was wrong – that she was in control and knew exactly who she was and wanted to be – even in the face of things spiraling further and further into being not even remotely in the realm of alright.

It was going to be harder to sneak back into Bargain Castle in the daylight with witnesses around, so Mal was already planning on getting ready at the hideout instead when she suddenly found herself being yanked into an alley.

The day had quickly gone from bad to worse, but it rounded off at confusing when Mal realized her potential mugger was Uma.

She had Mal pressed up against a wall of the alley with an arm braced across her chest, a position that had Mal wincing.

It’d been Mal’s understanding that she and Uma were going to slip into a mutual indifference towards each other after their brief partnership. It’s what they’d _been_ doing ever since the events with the Grudge had been wrapped up – ignoring each other whenever they happened to be in the same area – and, honestly, if Uma was looking for a fight, Mal wasn’t in the mood to give one.

“What’s this about?” Mal snapped at Uma, irritated. “Did I do something or are you just in a bad mood?”

“Neither,” Uma replied. She was staring at Mal’s face closely.

Mal’s attention fluttered around the alley, landing on anything other than Uma’s face, the pressure of Uma’s eyes unnerving her. Uma pressed against her further, her arm digging more firmly into Mal’s injuries and causing a harsh throbbing that made Mal wince again.

Just as suddenly as Uma had pinned Mal, she was releasing her. “Why are you still hurt?” she asked, crossing her arms and looking Mal over.

Mal blinked, the question, seeming to have come completely out of the nowhere, throwing her off. “Because injuries take time to heal?” she replied, too startled to even be sarcastic about it.

Uma raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you used up all your magic?”

Mal frowned, immediately going on the defensive. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Uma inhaled sharply, her hands clenching. She kept her voice low, to avoid letting anyone overhear their conversation, but the words still flew out of her mouth with cutting force. “You don’t- Are you kidding me right now? Of course, it’s my business! We were in that mess together! So if you aren’t using the magic to heal yourself, what _are_ you using it for?”

Mal felt a hot flush of anger at Uma having the audacity to-to _scold_ her, like she was a child in need of having her stupidity laid out to her. “I’m not _using_ it for anything! And – not that I need your permission – but I _haven’t_ used it for anything! I’m not an idiot. Do you really think I’m going to waste something so valuable? I’m saving it for when I actually need it.”

Uma scoffed. “Then I repeat: why are you still hurt? Anyone with eyes can see that you’re in constant pain. Honestly, I’m stunned someone hasn’t taken advantage and attacked you yet. You say you aren’t an idiot but leaving yourself vulnerable like this is seriously stupid. I can’t believe your _friends_ are letting you wander around alone.”

“I’m not helpless. And I don’t know what sort of friendships _you’ve_ got, but I don’t let anyone tell me what to do.”

Uma pointedly raised an eyebrow. “No one, huh?” she asked sarcastically. It was so obvious that she meant Maleficent that Mal nearly flinched. Almost as soon as she’d said it, though, Uma was shaking her head, muttering, “No, no, that’s not the argument I’m here for.” A sharp, centering breath and she continued, “Mal, you do know there’s a difference between trying to control someone and caring about them, right? Because I’m telling you _right now_, if someone _I_ cared about was in your condition, I wouldn’t let them out of my sight. Just seems a little weird to me that your little posse is nowhere to be found.”

Mal frowned. When Uma put it that way, Mal had to admit that she _had_ noticed her friends sticking closer to her than usual since the situation with the Grudge. She’d assumed it was the result of their own residual unease, but if what Uma was saying was true, it could be that they’d been hovering out of concern for _her_ specifically. The thought sat oddly with her, causing a twisting in her stomach that replicated itself on her mouth.

Uma was staring at her; Mal could feel the burning intensity of her eyes. A beat passed then, all of a sudden, Uma was laughing. It didn’t sound amused or happy or even cruel, but Mal still glared at her for it, not sure what else to do and, frankly, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Uma’s laughter died out rather quickly, leaving behind an incredulous tilt to her mouth. “You’re hopeless,” she said, the words coming out like they were nothing more than a simple fact. “If you’re not going to heal yourself, stop going out at night. Or at least let one of your friends know what you’re doing. They’ll probably be upset you’re risking your safety like this. I’d even bet you my captain’s hat that I’m right.”

Mal pressed her lips together, uncomfortable with how easily Uma had gotten a read on the situation. She didn’t like the thought that her emotions were that transparent. So, instead of dealing with the situation, she pushed off of the alley wall, moving to return to the main road when she suddenly paused, Uma’s words fully catching up with her.

She whirled back around. “How do you know I’ve been going out at night?”

Uma shrugged, the very definition of nonchalance as she walked closer to Mal, her stride languid, as if the line of questioning bored her. “I’ve seen you around.”

“So, what? You’re stalking me?”

Uma wrinkled her nose. “No,” she said, sounding offended that Mal would even suggest it. She flicked a few braids over her shoulder. “I have much better things to do with my time than follow you around at gods awful hours of the night.”

“Then you expect me to believe that it’s a coincidence you’ve seen me?” Mal rolled her eyes. “I already told you I’m not-” She froze, a thought coming to her all of a sudden. She looked at Uma more closely, searching for any signs of exhaustion tugging at her edges. Hesitantly, now, she asked, “…Can’t sleep?”

Uma shrugged. “Better than you can, probably. Have you seen the shadows under your eyes?”

Mal reached up to touch the tender skin below one of her eyes self-consciously. She _had_ seen, actually, and had been doing her best to cover it up. Unfortunately, since her sleepover on the roof had been entirely unintentional, she wasn’t currently wearing any concealer.

Uma didn’t wait for an answer to her question, or maybe she hadn’t been expecting one to begin with. Instead she continued, saying, “You pass right by my place. Even if I don’t see you on your way out, I always end up seeing you on your way back.” Uma took a few more steps closer now, leaving them near enough to touch if she or Mal just reached out. “Tonight, I never saw you go back.”

“And what? You were worried? Had to come looking for me?” Mal was tugging on her ear, eliciting the slightest bit of burn as she pulled too aggressively. Her words came out derisive, though what she was really feeling was a twisting, tumbling, maelstrom of pleasure and displeasure, confusion and hope.

Uma hummed. “Maybe I was.” She took another step closer to Mal, really in her space now, the salty sea smell that seemed to be soaked into her very skin invading Mal’s nose. “Not that you would deserve it.”

A few moments passed. Mal could feel her heartbeat all the way in her fingertips, her magic zinging along with it, fueling her growing feeling of nausea. She had that _feeling_ again, that desperate feeling, that sick feeling, that ‘I need to apologize’ feeling. The whole short while they’d been working together Mal had never gotten around to that, apologizing for how she’d turned on Uma when they were kids though it’d been an inconsolable itch under her skin every time she’d looked at her.

Mal swallowed hard, opened her mouth, planning to say something, anything by way of an apology. Instead, she found herself confessing, “I can’t heal myself.”

Uma’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean you can’t heal yourself?”

Mal crossed her arms tightly around herself. “I just can’t.”

“But you healed Evie.”

Mal huffed out a breath. “I _know_. The magic works, it just isn’t working on _me_.”

Uma was really frowning at her now, the look of a girl faced with a particularly frustrating puzzle. “That’s not right. You should go to Malva, something’s obviously wrong.”

“Malva?” Mal scoffed, shifting her weight uncomfortably, ‘_Think about what you need_’ whispering at the back of her mind. “What’s she going to do for me?”

“She used magic before she was sent to the Isle. She might know why you can’t use it on yourself and be able to fix the problem. Unless you’d honestly rather stay weak and in pain…”

“I’m not weak, I could still take you,” Mal replied automatically. The second the words were out of her mouth, she groaned internally, hoping that Uma wouldn’t take the instinctual response for an actual challenge.

Based on Uma’s derisive snort, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Mal wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or insulted.

She decided to ignore it, drumming her fingers on her bicep as she thought about Uma’s proposition. She _was_ sick of being impeded by her injuries. And there _wasn’t_ really any other adult she could go to with this problem and feel confident that the secret of her having magic wouldn’t bring down a storm of trouble for her as a result.

She wasn’t exactly happy about it, but she nodded. “You’re right. I should go to Malva.”

“What do you know, the girl has a brain after all.” Uma reached out, telegraphing her motions, and tapped Mal on the side of the head, dropping her hand just fast enough to avoid getting it swatted away.

Mal glowered at her, turning on her heal to stalk off.

“You heading over now?” Uma called after her. Mal glanced over her shoulder from the mouth of the alley. Uma wasn’t following.

She shrugged. “The sooner I get this over with, the better.”

Uma nodded. “Tell Malva I said hi.”

Mal didn’t say anything back, but sometimes the simple lack of a refusal could as good as a promise to follow through.

When she rejoined the streets, they were crowded. Her body was still stiff from her poor choice of a sleeping place.

She felt tired.

~ ~ ~

Malva answered the door rather quickly to Mal’s incessant pounding and if she was surprised to see Mal, she certainly didn’t act like it.

With a, “Welcome back,” Malva steeped aside, inviting Mal into her home and telling her there was French toast in the kitchen. At the mention of food, Mal’s stomach growled loudly and, slightly flushed, she made a B-line for the kitchen, barely pausing to convey Uma’s regards.

As she passed through the dining room, she saw two other children, quite a bit younger than her, sitting at the table, talking quietly to each other, giggling softly. She strode past them without bothering to say anything.

It was just as messy in the kitchen as the last time she’d seen it, but the platter stacked high with French toast was still easy to spot – the only thing, other than a bottle of syrup, sitting on the stove.

She glanced around the room, uncertain where the clean dishes were hiding. Filtering in from the doorway, she could hear Malva speaking to the kids, her words unintelligible, but her tone soft and soothing in a way that made Mal want to gag. Instead, she huffed out an annoyed sigh and started rifling through drawers and cupboards. She’d just victoriously pulled out a fork to go with a plate she’d found when Malva swept into the room.

Malva paused in the doorway and they both eyed each other for a moment before Mal went into motion, going to the stove and stabbing a piece of French toast with her fork.

Her question about malfunctioning magic was churning in her stomach.

She stabbed another piece of French toast and grabbed the syrup, squeezing out a decent amount of it, then leaned back against the oven. She could see Malva moving in her peripherals as she glared down at the plate, settling nearby, against the counter.

Mal shoved a bite of French toast into her mouth. It was… delicious. She quickly devoured half of the first piece, barely taking time to breathe and finally stopping to ask, “Where do you even get all of this stuff?”

“Stuff?” Malva asked, tilting her head to the side, her red curls cascading.

“Yeah, _stuff_,” Mal said around another mouthful of French toast, gesturing to her plate, the platter on the stove, the whole kitchen.

“Ah. My _stuff_.” Her tone was dry, if a bit amused when she said it. Mal glanced at her. She was smiling a little, the slightest twist of her lips. “Having money helps. My parents send me some every month. The people who bring in our shipments are _not_ above bribery.” Her smile turned down at that, thinly veiled disgust marring the words. She gave a shake of her head, continuing with, “So, did you come by for anything specific? Or is this just a visit?”

Mal’s eyebrows furrowed. The very idea of Malva having parents off the Isle, let alone ones that would bother to send her money to improve her life there, was utterly baffling. She almost pursued that line of questioning, but… Her body was still throbbing, still needed to be fixed.

She pressed her lips together, decided her current problem took precedence, swallowed down her discomfort and said, “I heard you know about magic.”

Malva hummed. “This is about the magic you picked up, then?”

“I…” Mal pushed her food around with her fork. “I can’t heal myself.” She scowled, pushing aside self-consciousness in favor of irritation. “It doesn’t make any sense. I healed Evie. I’ve used the magic for other things. It just won’t work on _me_.”

“Sounds frustrating.”

“No duh,” Mal snapped, shoving another bite of French toast into her mouth.

Another smile pulled at Malva’s mouth, but it dissipated just as quickly as the last one. “Magic does what its user wants. If there’s even the slightest bit of hesitation, there could be problems.”

Mal set her plate aside, turning to look at Malva incredulously. “Are you suggesting I don’t actually _want_ the magic to heal me?”

“It’s possible.”

Mal felt a flash of anger. “That’s so stupid! Of course I want it to heal me!” She dragged a hand through her hair, glaring at Malva. “If you don’t know what’s wrong, just say so instead of wasting my time.”

“Mal,” Malva said, slowly and patiently, “do you remember how I had wondered, after you all came out of the woods that first time, whether you felt like you’d forced your friends to come with you? Whether you’d felt responsible for their injuries?”

Mal bristled, crossing her arms. She thought of Evie’s potential scarring, something that she still had yet to even ask about, too afraid of the answer. “I remember,” she said, stiffly. “What does that have to do with anything? I already told you that you were wrong.”

“I know. But if you _did_ happen to feel… guilty at all, it could be that deep down you _don’t_ want to heal yourself. That you view bearing these wounds as… atonement.” Her frown got deeper, sadder. “Or punishment.”

Mal flushed, her heart stammering, crossing her arms tightly around herself. “I don’t- I don’t-”

“Mal…”

Mal shook her head, taking a step away from Malva, towards the doorway.

“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but facing the problem is the first step to resolving it.”

Mal bit her bottom lip, glanced between the doorway and Malva. Squeezed her arms around herself and felt the dull throb of her injuries. She took a steading breath. “How – If that was the problem – _and I’m not saying it_ _is_ – how would I fix it?”

Malva walked towards her, taking slow steps, clearly designed to avoid startling Mal, and reached out, only placing a hand on Mal’s shoulder when she was certain Mal wasn’t going to flinch from her touch. Her hand was warm and solid even through the layers of Mal’s clothes

Mal half expected Malva to grab her chin in a vicelike grip with her other hand, force her eyes up like her mother always did. Instead, Malva moved her thumb in a soothing motion.

Mal, absurdly, felt the urge to cry.

“I’m sorry, Mal.”

The words made Mal flinch. The motion of Malva’s thumb paused for a moment, a brief stuttering, but picked back up again just as quickly, moving on as nothing had happened.

“Unless you can forgive yourself, this block isn’t going to go away.”

Mal gritted her teeth, pulling away from Malva. The hand receded from her shoulder almost immediately.

“So coming here was a waste of time after all,” Mal hissed. She turned on her heal, stalking out of the room before Malva could respond. She made it all the way outside before Malva caught up with her, her voice once again reaching Mal from a doorway.

She called out, “Come by again sometime, after you’ve cooled off. Bring your friends.”

Mal just scoffed and kept walking.

It wasn’t long before her anger burned itself out, somewhere around the fourth person she’d intentionally shoved into as she stomped past them, it all just… released. She didn’t feel angry anymore, she felt tired.

She rubbed at her eyes, deciding that she ought to head to the hideout and she’d intended to go, really, but when she’d reached the area in the street that branched off towards Uma’s…

There was just some sort of pull that she couldn’t resist.

She ended up getting a seat in Uma’s Fish and Chips at a booth in a secluded, shadowy corner and it wasn’t long before Uma was sliding in across from her.

“You still look terrible,” Uma said, looking Mal over. “Did you even end up going to Malva?”

“Yes, I went to Malva,” Mal groused, shooting Uma an annoyed look. “She couldn’t help me.”

“Oh.” A pause. “That sucks.”

A bubble of laughter burst out of Mal. “Yeah,” she agreed, smiling with an empty sort of humor. “Yeah, it does suck.” She sighed, staring down at the table, the almost cheerful floral-patterned tablecloth staring right back up at her. She started tracing the pattern, just for something else to focus on, thoughts of her conversation with Malva still occupying her mind.

She could still felt that itch when she looked at Uma. Persistent. Unignorable.

She needed to… Had to… And she couldn’t back out this time.

“Uma,” Mal began, forcing the word out of her mouth, her pulse skyrocketing, a mantra of ‘_Don’t be a coward_’ starting up in her head. “Uma, I… for a while now I wanted to… apologize. For what I did to you back when we were kids.”

Mal glanced up at her. Uma was cradling her chin in one hand, her expression unreadable. Mal continued, “I… I betrayed you, destroyed the trust we’d established. All for…” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have done it. I know I shouldn’t have done it. Even way back then I _knew_ I shouldn’t have done it.”

“But you did.” Uma’s tone was flat, just as unreadable as her face.

Mal closed her eyes, took a deep breath, reopened them, and nodded. “But I did.” She stilled her hand on the tablecloth. “You deserved a better friend.” Mal reached out, hesitantly, and when Uma didn’t pull away, she grasped her hand, squeezing it gently.

Uma stared at their hands, glanced away, staring out at the room, her lips pressing tightly together, then swung her gaze back around to their hands. With her free hand she reached up, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Mal, I swear to the gods,” she muttered, but at the same time she shifted her hand in Mal’s, interlocking their fingers.

For a moment, Mal could swear her heart stopped.

Uma dropped her hand from her face, looking at Mal intently. “I’m going to regret this,” she stated, her tone matter-of-fact, like she’d seen into the future and was accepting her fate.

“No!” Mal exclaimed, gripping Uma’s hand tightly, like if she held on hard enough, she wouldn’t lose her. “No, it’s different now, I swear.” Mal couldn’t even find it in herself to feel ashamed of how desperate she sounded.

Uma shook her head. “I think you believe that, but… Your mother always comes first with you, Mal. Can you really say that in the end that’s not right back where you’ll end up?” Her eyes dropped back down to their joined hands. “A second chance is all you get. Screw me over again and it’ll be ugly. Just… try _harder_ this time.” With that, Uma disentangled their fingers and rose from the table. “I’ll see you around,” she said, then slipped off, back to work.

Mal stared after her, her hand tingling with the sensations of phantom touch and lingering warmth.

She wouldn’t mess up this time.

She wouldn’t.

…She _wouldn’t_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the ending doesn't feel unsatisfactory. I really just wanted to get Mal further along on the paths of reforming a lasting connection with Uma and of sorting through the things she feels guilty about. Sadly, neither of those things directly resolve her mid-life crisis, but I'm hoping pushing her in the right direction at least provides some feeling of progress with that. Anyway. I'll be back with another mini fic (and some more progress for all the kids) eventually!


End file.
